


How Gonou Got His Limiters

by sexybee



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Saiyuki
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-19
Updated: 2010-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexybee/pseuds/sexybee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime between leaving the castle after Kanan's death and arriving on the path where Gojyo found him, Gonou found some power limiters.  How on earth did that happen, and how did he walk so far so badly injured? Obviously, he had help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Gonou Got His Limiters

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure crack.

Cho Gonou stumbled out of the halls of Hyakugan Maoh's castle, and fell to his knees, panting, in the dirt. It was starting to rain, and the drops spattered to the ground, mixing with the blood from his wounds. He stared down at his hands, braced against the ground, at the long claws digging into the leafmold and the dark markings on his skin. Youkai. Not human anymore. Demon. What _she_ had killed herself to keep from spawning.

The sound of someone approaching broke through the white noise of the rain and his ragged breaths. "'orrible night, innit? You know what'd do you good on a night like tonight? A nice hot meat pie. Straight from the pig itself; so fresh it 'adn't started squealing yet." The man walked closer and removed the lid on the tray around his neck, waving towards him the smell of grease sizzling meat just past their prime. The smell was so thick that it thankfully covered the stench of blood. "Or, here, 'ow bout a nice lovely sausage inna bun? Can't go wrong with a sausage inna bun."

The aforementioned product was thrust under Gonou's nose, causing him to rear back instinctively.

"Genuine pig parts, that is. Add a spot of mustard and you've got a treat guaranteed to bring tears to your eyes. Or, well, something like that," he admitted in a spate of truthfulness.

Pig parts, Gonou wondered. But he wasn't going to ask. Really he wasn't. He had more important things to think about. Like the fact that he could now smell the individual components of the sausage (_not_ actually all pig parts, unless pigs had suddenly developed a paper making organ he wasn't aware of), and what that meant about him. He moaned hopelessly and turned his demon-marked face up towards the sausage peddler. "Do I _look_ like I want a sausage?"

The salesman paused briefly, then opened an upper compartment in his tray. "Fried rat inna bun then, sir? Bit o' shale with some nice mustard?"

"What?" Gonou tried again to get the desperateness of his position across. "Just go away! You can't make me human again, so just leave me to die here with my guilt."

The man with the tray nodded wisely. "Ah, one o' them angsty types. Well, I reckon it's your lucky day, cause I just so happen to be having a special today on demon power limiters, made specially by a group of dedicated monks, with secret heavenly wisdom passed down over the ages living high in the Rimtop mountains and shipped to me by llama-back. Here, try them on, sir, you'll feel good as new." He slid a compartment out from the bottom of the tray and picked through an assortment of boxes, bottles, and bags, finally selecting a small grimy paper box.

He opened it and removed three small silver clips. "They goes on your ear," he added, helpfully, handing them across to Gonou, who slid them on, his hands trembling with the effects of blood loss and sudden hope. As the last one slid into place he closed his eyes and felt his body shudder and shrink, and when he opened his eyes again he stared wonderingly at the hand in front of him — dirty, short-nailed, and blessedly, blessedly human. "See, sir! Just like I said, works like a charm. And seeing as how they look so nice on you, I'll let all three of them go for a mere hunnert, and that's cutting me own throat."

Gonou stood up slowly, clutching at his stomach wound, and smiled grimly. He could die human now. "Oh, I think they're worth more than that." He stretched and flexed the fingers of his right hand.

The sausage seller, with the same instinct that all small rodents and natural salesmen have, started backing away. "Oh no, no, no. Why, did I say a hunnert? I don't know what I was thinking. Must be this rain distracting me. I meant to say that since you seem like such a jolly fellow I'd like you to have them. For. Uh." The word seemed to stick in his throat. "Free." He was backed up almost all the way to the edge of the woods now. "You sure I can't interest you in a nice meat pie?" he called plaintively. "Hit the spot with a few fried onions."

"No." Gonou smiled. "Thank you." The other man rook advantage of his closed-eye smile to slip away into the darkness of the trees, but Gonou didn't bother to follow him. He had more important things to do. Like dying.

Clutching his stomach, he hobbled back towards the entrance of the palace, back to Kanan and his death. Behind him, somebody cleared his throat loudly. "You do know that's not where you should be going? You need a doctor."

"I need to die," he contradicted, not turning around.

Death, on his way back into the castle for another trip, paused and swung a careful look at Gonou. He held out his hand and a curiously wrought object appeared on his palm. It appeared to be two hourglasses, melded together. The sand had almost finished falling from the first bulb into the second, although as yet, none had fallen down into the third bulb. Death tapped the glass lightly with one finger, but the sand continued to refuse to pass into the bottom chamber. He sighed, tucked the strange glass away into the recesses of his robe, picked up his scythe, and hurried on to continue his rounds.

"Please, just let me die. I want to die…" Gonou voice trailed off as the pain flared brighter, and he staggered another step towards the castle doors.

"And why's that?" the man behind him asked.

Gonou turned to face him, taking in the wrinkled smiling face, bald head, and the broom strapped to his back. A monk, perhaps, but surely not a very successful one, considering his stained robes and the bit of string he wore as a belt. "The one I love is dead. I have nothing to live for."

The bald man sighed, and pulled out a cigarette. "Lo, is it not written: _I can't be having with that sort of thing_?"

"You don't understand! I killed people. So many people. I _need_ to die."

The old man sighed. "Truly, it is written: _Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get to work_. You've got somewhere else you need to be, kid."

Gonou drew his breath in sharply, winced at the stabbing agony that was his midsection, and then caught himself. "I'm sorry. It's too late."

The bald man grinned, showing tobacco stained teeth. "In my line of work, kid, it's never too late." He tossed the cigarette casually over to Gonou, who unthinkingly caught it, and froze. Lu-Tze shook his head over Qu's latest toy, and caught hold of the back of Gonou's shirt, dragging him down the mountain with a strength unsuspected in his tiny, frail-looking body. Behind him Gonou, frozen in a single, never-ending moment, bumped his way over the rocky path. "Come on, my friend," the Sweeper muttered. "You've got a date with destiny."


End file.
